


Devour

by silkinsilence



Series: Femslash February 2020 [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, F/F, Humiliation, Knifeplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22566622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkinsilence/pseuds/silkinsilence
Summary: ‍They bring out the worst in each other, but they like it when it hurts.‍
Relationships: Sombra | Olivia Colomar/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Series: Femslash February 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621666
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Devour

“Come here.”

Her legs are useless. Sombra has taken them from her as easily as Talon’s doctors did years ago. The prostheses are nothing but dead weight now. The Widowmaker is forced to pull herself across the cold floor with only her arms. The distance is only a few feet, but her arms burn from the exertion. She is almost nauseous with disgust at herself, for her weakness and for crawling like an animal. Is this all she is good for?

She looks up at Sombra through eyes narrowed in hatred. She’ll get her for this, would kill her here and now if she wasn’t so _pathetic—_

Her hands brush Sombra’s shoes, and they both look down at the point of contact.

“Good,” Sombra murmurs. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and her lips just barely open. She wears contempt well.

The Widowmaker is filled with warmth, the burn of humiliation and, a thousand times worse, the genuine glow from the compliment. She is not meant to feel. Certainly she is not meant to feel— _that._

“I’ll reconnect the circuits a bit later,” Sombra coos. Her hand alights on Widow’s head and strokes her hair. “I like seeing you crawl for me.”

  
  


She can’t move. She can’t  _move_ , and it awakens a sort of primal fear in her. She has survived her whole life by running, hiding, slipping through cracks digital or real, but now she can’t move at all, except to tense her muscles against the manacles binding her wrists and ankles in an upright  _X._

“ _Chut, chut,_ ” Widow soothes her. She brings a hand up to cup Sombra’s cheek, damp from sweat and (shamefully) tears. Their faces are just a few inches apart, and Sombra wonders if Widow is actually going to kiss her. The other woman’s clothing is rubbing against her bare skin, and despite what they’re doing or perhaps because of it, Sombra is aroused.

She lets herself relax as much as she can. It is a mistake, because then the knife digs into her thigh again and her breath breaks into a series of high-pitches noises embarrassingly like sobs.

Widow’s thumb strokes her cheekbone. Her golden eyes are alight with something like rapture. She _loves_ this _._

The knife pulls away, and a few seconds later she feels the first drop of blood roll down her thigh. The wound is not the only part of her that’s dripping.

  
  


It’s amazing how little patience Widow can have, Sombra marvels, when she’s not couched in a nest and looking through the scope of Widow’s Kiss. It’s breathtaking to see the woman typically cold and unruffled as a statue sweating and squirming. Her dark, silky hair is disheveled and clinging to sweat-drenched skin. She’s digging her teeth into the gag and rocking her hips against nothing at all.

“That’s only three,” Sombra tells her, amused. Widow makes a noise through the gag, and her bleary eyes open to glare. “You were so cocky.”

Ten orgasms Sombra intends to deny her, and then not even have the charity to give her the eleventh. But Widow doesn’t need to know the last part; taking that hope from her will be lovely when the time comes.

With a flick of her thumb the vibrator is buzzing and pressed to Widow’s clit again, and she rocks her hips feverishly, without shame, in an attempt to satiate herself before Sombra denies her again. Sombra watches her brow furrow, her pretty tits bounce, her chin lift and her jaw begin to go slack—

The pressure is gone and Widow sobs at the loss, her greedy clit twitching.

  
  


Amélie Lacroix became a ballerina because she was _good,_ yes, and because she enjoyed the reaction it drew from people, but also because she liked putting on a show. Perhaps this is one part of her that has not changed, though so much else has, the Widowmaker thinks idly as she lays back in bed and plays with herself.

Sombra is seated on her knees in the far corner, facing the wall. Her back is ramrod straight. She has been silent, taking her discipline well.

The Widowmaker rounds her silky-soft entrance with one finger, collecting more and more wetness on her fingertip with each circle. She isn’t focused on orgasming. She wants to take her time, draw it out, see how strong Sombra’s resolve to behave is.

She moves her hand up to her nipple. She just brushes over it, and gasps at the wet sensation, and then presses her fingers together in a cruel pinch. The moan is authentic this time as she abuses the little nub.

She sees Sombra’s head turn just a few degrees before she catches herself and looks back at the wall.

“Good girl,” the Widowmaker purrs, and wonders what other reactions she can get.

Widow likes it, _really_ likes it, when she’s rough, try as she might to hide it. There is something sickening in her desperation to feel _something, anything,_ but Sombra doesn’t let herself think enough about that aspect to let it sicken her.

But Widow also hates when she leaves marks, at least marks where others will see them. She has told Sombra this again and again, and Sombra always remembers and always pretends she doesn’t.

But she’s finally going to get away with it this time, she thinks gleefully, as she sucks the skin of Widow’s pretty throat. Her knee is between Widow’s legs, and Widow rocks between the wall and the warm body pressed against her own. When they emerge to catch the transport home, their collars will be askew and their hair messy, and Reaper will probably know exactly what they’ve been doing.

Sombra bites a little harder, and then Widow’s eyes snap open and she jerks her neck away, her expression melting into the sort of fury that Sombra shouldn’t find as hot as she does.

“I will punish you for that,” Widow says quietly.

Sombra doesn’t say what she’s thinking, that she looks forward to it.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated!


End file.
